Summer Skin
by Kaitsy
Summary: A neat little Lily & James, oneshot [[could become more, something like a miniseries]]. From Lily's perspective, just a moment inside her head on a July afternoon. It's a bit messy and incomplete, but it's something.


**"Summer Skin."**

**abc.**

This is something ridiculous I threw together about a half hour ago. It's almost three in the morning and I have no idea what this is meant to be. I just became incredibly frustrated with not having written anything for All that Matters for over two months and I felt this need to write about now, about the summer.

It's just Lily's messy thoughts of herself and James, on a hot summer day. It's quite incomplete and all over the place, but I kind of liked it. I've never really written anything quite like it before. I like writing in this sort of tone, a happier, more content one. All that Matters was just dragging me down a bit, though I absolutely promise to get back to it.

Fyi: 'Summer Skin' is a song by Death Cab for Cutie that I severely love at the moment.

Anyway, I've never written a one-shot before, so here goes. Enjoy, perhaps...?

**abc.**

I was always one for beginnings. They were fresh and new and surprising -- And I could understand beginnings. There was nothing tangly or twisted about them, everything was very clear. Friendships and romances and alliances were all laid out quite nicely and there was something beautiful about beginnings.

I was a girl who often found herself painted into corners. There was no way out without ruining something, without traipsing through something that took a long while to build and it was such a messy thing -- The middle is always like that. The novelty of beginnings has worn off and you are just standing there with no where to go and nothing to do and you feel so helpless.

No, I wasn't a fan of the middle, of being so obviously stuck. I'd get bored and abandon things by then -- Projects, shopping, or friendships or boyfriends, whatever got _hard_ at midpoint, I had no patience for.

And it's not something you can do, go through life leaving things incomplete and falling apart. You can't forget people and things because it gets a bit difficult, because it gets a bit boring and you feel aimless. You've got to grit your teeth and try very hard, but I didn't care for many things enough to bother doing that.

I arrived at Hogwarts for my Seventh year -- A young woman with self-respect and nicer hair, better legs and a freckled face, a Head Girl badge pinned to my chest. I was optimistic and in love with something new each day -- I was flighty and aimless as hell.

It wasn't until James Potter that I finally calmed down a bit. He had always been there, to be honest, but I hadn't the time to see him. He was immature and proud, talented and devious. There was always a rule to break and someone to torture -- Often a choice Slytherin with a sheet of greasy hair. It had been irritating in our younger years, but by Seventh year he seemed to have had grown out of it, too.

Then one day there was just no reason to for me to hate him anymore.

He was the Head Boy to my Head Girl and it was some strange harmonious thing that we were forced into, some occurance that was the most significant of my life. I'd tell myself -- Well, we have a lot of work to do, a lot of responsibility to take, it just makes sense to get along with him now.

That was the beginning.

**abc.**

July, after our June graduation, came with humid warmth, heavy air and afternoon thunderstorms. It came slowly and lazily and sucked every ounce of care and determination from your body. It was lovely to be so listless.

My red hair, curly and thick, was a frizzy mess on that day, as I lay on the bed in knickers and a tank top, dying for a breath of fresh air, a breeze of any sort. It was the middle of July and I hated middles.

He trained much of the time -- He was going to be an Auror. The significance of it never really struck me then, it just seemed such a bold, brave occupation and nothing suited him more. I told him the day he declared it that he would make for a handsome one. He laughed, but he knew it was true. James had evolved a bit, he was more humble now, kinder and gentle. To be with him when he was like that was somehow amazing, some generous secret.

It had to be thirty-five degrees, I thought, and it was barely one in the afternoon. There was no movement, everything was still and the only thing to be heard was the buzz in the air. Lawnmowers and aeroplanes overhead; insects and penetrating rays.

The breath left me slowly and filled in me quickly, desperate to move as little as possible, to stay as hidden as the bright sun would allow.

I had moved in with him after graduation and it was still startling to me. James was a sly bastard and it had to have been his doing, because at times I didn't remember ever agreeing to it. It seemed to happen a bit haphazardly, without much thought, with much consideration. Before I had moved in we hadn't even told one another, 'I love you'.

It didn't seem so important now, as I stretched out on the bed, my legs almost dangling from the end of it. I was pale and freckly, my legs long and graceful -- Too bad I never quite knew how to work them properly. I was always tripping and stumbling and making a fool of myself.

My arms were slender and my waist narrow, though where there once had been a flat span of skin with an indent for a navel, now rested a slight tummy and I could never bring myself to care -- James didn't seem to. I thought it was natural to put a bit of weight on after graduation, though he just grew lankier and muscles more toned. The training did him good, though he always seemed very tired.

He told me I was too tiny and I'd look better with some meat on my bones, so I just considered the extra ten or so as taking his advice. My bottom didn't seem any bigger and my thighs just shaplier -- It was a bit of character being added to me, along with that worry wrinkle to my brow.

The thing with James, the thing with us -- Was that there never really seemed to be a middle. I knew I was a self-proclaimed failure, a curious girl and I swore that I would leave him as I had left others, as I had left family and places and friends.

I always expected it but each day I woke up seemed so familiar, so much like the beginning had. The months wore on and it never really seemed to fade any -- The appeal, the power James had over me.

He came home early that day and I was sticky and sweating and was sure that I didn't smell as lovely as I wished to. I wondered if he would ever grow tired of my lacklustre approach to my appearance, to my life. I think I loved him all the more because I knew he never would.

When he kissed me, it was always my neck first. It was always my throat and my clavicle and my jaw and my ear and last my lips. He liked reactions, he liked to know the way I felt about him, the way I craved and adored him. I always gasped and he seemed to need that sound in his ear as his hands crept up my shirt, over my warm, freckled skin.

I knew what was coming and I knew it would feel like the end, when my knickers left my legs and his hands were suddenly on fire and his body was so close I could barely move, could barely breathe without him tasting it so well -- He would have to leave for awhile.

James whispered it as his bare chest pressed against my own and my only response was to tug him and feel him and groan loudly near his skin.

Nothing in the movies or the books or the songs compared to the way it actually was. Nothing compared to James suffocating me, his weight atop me a satisfying reminder of what we were, how we were. It was terrifying each time and exhilirating and I could always feel my blood in my veins, my heart pumping through my chest.

I'd look at him afterwards -- Lately he'd fall asleep, -- exhausted even early this time, in the afternoon -- once we had finished, and I was never ashamed of it, of him. It was so nice with him, so honest and intoxicating that I couldn't care that we weren't married, that we were off and on and aloof. Funny, because I had always been a good girl with morals. He just so easily took that away.

He had black hair that was an infinite mess and dark eyebrows. Thick lashes and a smooth face, stubble wasn't something either of us enjoyed. James was lean and lovely and muscles rippled in the right places -- Not too many, for he was still awkward and lanky and it was so endearing. His glasses were thin and served him well and his eyes were hazel and alight. He tanned easily and looked his best when he wore his jeans that were too tight, and his abdominals showing off preferred over a shirt.

It was July and he was leaving for awhile to train and learn, to become an Auror. He was going to save the world, I thought, and he told me he loved me and this was monumental, was life-altering.

Nothing ever stood still with him, came to a halt in the middle. It was a beginning with James, even when he left me that tragic summer, when days grew darker and people more afraid.

I would never know just how to finish James Potter. He was always there, in those hot days and cool evenings and navy summer skies.

End.


End file.
